blockhead!"--_Carlyle_.

"Never did any publike misery
Rise of it selfe; God's plagues still grounded are
On common staines of our Humanity:
And to the flame, which ruineth Mankind,
Man gives the matter, or at least gives winde."--_Daniell_.


England is one of the richest countries in the world. Our merchants are
enterprising, our manufacturers are industrious, our labourers are
hard-working. There is an accumulation of wealth in the country to which
past times can offer no parallel. The Bank is gorged with gold. There
never was more food in the empire; there never was more money. There is
no end to our manufacturing productions, for the steam-engine never
tires. And yet notwithstanding all this wealth, there is an enormous
mass of poverty. Close alongside the Wealth of Nations, there gloomily
stalks the Misery of Nations,--luxurious ease resting upon a dark
background of wretchedness.

Parliamentary reports have again and again revealed to us the miseries
endured by certain portions of our working population. They have
described the people employed in factories, workshops, mines, and
brickfields, as well as in the pursuits of country life. We have tried
to grapple with the evils of their condition by legislation, but it
seems to mock us. Those who sink into poverty are fed, but they remain
paupers. Those who feed them, feel no compassion; and those who are fed,
return no gratitude. There is no bond of sympathy between the givers and
the receivers. Thus the Haves and the Have-nots, the opulent and the
indigent, stand at the two extremes of the social scale, and a wide gulf